


eyes on you, eyes on me

by albypotter



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 12:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albypotter/pseuds/albypotter
Summary: Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. Sometimes it isn't.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 103





	eyes on you, eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: _“I’m not jealous. You’re free to kiss whoever you—” *is kissed*_
> 
> title from all about us by he is we

Albus’ Herbology partner Maisie Abbott mentions the Ravenclaw end of term party to him offhand at the end of class, the week before term ends. _Oh, we’re having a bit of a get-together before everyone goes off for the holidays, up in the tower. It’d be nice to see you there._ Clearly an invitation just for Albus himself, because as anyone in their class could tell you, Maisie has had a crush on Albus since their fourth year. But Albus, oblivious idiot that he is, brings Scorpius with him anyway. A good decision, really, because Scorpius is the only one in the group of students standing around the door to the common room who can answer the riddle the bronze knocker poses them.

_If I give you one, you have either two or none._

“A choice,” he answers after a few minutes of puzzling, and the door swings silently open. Albus punches him playfully in the arm and mutters _nerd_ under his breath as they go through into the beautifully decorated common room. It’s festive, but still tasteful – very Ravenclaw. It must have taken them hours, Scorpius thinks. There’s barely time to take it all in before Maisie appears, apparently from nowhere, squeals with excitement and pulls Albus away. Scorpius almost reaches after him but stops himself at the last moment. Maisie invited Albus, after all, not him. He can enjoy an evening by himself for once.

He ends up curled up on a couch in the corner of the common room, talking to Simon Edgecombe – or listening, rather, since Simon is rather fond of the sound of his own voice. He’s talking about his ex, Scorpius thinks through the haze of the cheap vodka and whatever else is in the drink he was handed. Simon’s ex, and the way he never let Simon express his opinions. Scorpius wonders distractedly how Simon could ever have ended up with someone who wasn’t willing to listen to him talk. He certainly has a lot to say tonight.

“—And he really was a _dreadful_ kisser, too… you know, of course, how annoying that can be—”

“Not really,” Scorpius interrupts, mostly just for the sake of getting a word in. “I haven’t kissed many people, actually.” _Or any,_ he thinks, but Simon doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh?” Simon asks, with a strange, dark look in his eye. It suits him. “Interesting.”

He leans in then, slowly, and Scorpius takes a few moments to realise what’s about to happen. It’s terrifying for a split-second, but then he thinks, _why not?_ It’s not as though the one person he actually wants to kiss is at all interested. He’s over by the bay window with Maisie. He blinks away the image of their heads close together and their knees touching as they sit on the window seat and pulls his attention back to Simon.

Kissing turns out to be nothing like what he expected it would be. Not that he had any expectations, exactly; he’s spent most of the last two years trying _not_ to think about kissing anyone, because he knows it will turn into thinking about Albus, which hurts in a very specific and peculiar way. Simon’s mouth is soft and warm, and it’s… okay. Maybe even nice, but certainly nothing special. It’s not hard to reciprocate the kiss; he just copies what Simon is doing, and Simon seems to enjoy it. His hand is on the back of Scorpius’ neck. The sleeve of his blue checked shirt brushes the top of Scorpius’ collarbone, where his jumper has been pulled down a little. It’s easy to get lost in for a little while, but then it’s just boring. Scorpius pulls away, and Simon doesn’t chase his lips, just watches him with wide, empty eyes. The moment stretches between them, and Scorpius feels suddenly shy and awkward. Was he really that awful?

“Damn, Malfoy,” Simon says eventually, slow and quiet. Scorpius can barely hear him over the sounds of the party going on around them. “I knew you were head over heels for him, but I thought we could still have some fun, at least.” Scorpius blinks, and Simon is gone, camouflaged into the crowd.

That’s that, then. His first kiss. He puts a hand to his mouth, as though it will be different somehow. His lips are chapped from the dry December air. He wonders what Simon’s departing comment could possibly mean.

There’s a movement in his peripheral vision, and he refocuses his eyes to see Albus staring at him, and Maisie staring at Albus. She says something Scorpius can’t hear, then gives Albus a mean little shove and storms off up the stairs that must lead to the girls’ dorms. Albus is still staring at him, though, instead of going after Maisie, and his eyes are dark and his mouth is a soft _oh_ of surprise. Or horror, maybe.

It’s a snapshot frozen in time, as they watch each other across the room. Scorpius realises that his mouth is hanging open and closes it quickly. Even from a distance, even with this indeterminable expression on his face, Albus is utterly stunning. His hair was neatly combed before they left, but in the last few hours it’s reverted back to being messy and untameable in the way that drives Scorpius crazy. One of the strings of his hoodie is stretched out, far longer the other, which he knows Albus hates. He’s so distracted by the thought that he doesn’t realise that Albus has crossed the room until he’s right in front of him, grabbing his arm.

“Let’s go,” Albus hisses, in a harsh, bitter tone, and pulls him up off the couch, through the crowd around the drinks table and back out of the door with the bronze knocker. Scorpius follows him helplessly down the stairs to the bottom of the tower, and out of the door to the gardens where Albus finally crumples. He slumps onto the wrought-iron bench by the flowerbeds, curled up with his feet under him, and looks up at Scorpius. It’s an invitation, and Scorpius takes it, sits down next to him and waits for whatever Albus is going to come out with. Something is wrong, he knows, because Albus always turns bitter and quiet and strange like this when he’s upset, but he also knows he won’t find out what it is if he isn’t patient about it.

It’s a long silence. Albus shivers in the freezing air, and Scorpius is glad for his woollen jumper. He wants to reach out, but Albus is prickly and rough around the edges right now. Scorpius has never figured out to get through to him when he’s like this. So he waits.

“What were you doing with him?”

Finally, Albus has said something, but it also happens to be the only thing that Scorpius really doesn’t want to think about right now. He hopes that Albus will mistake the red flush of his cheeks for windchill.

“Um,” he says, slow and quiet. “Kissing, I suppose.”

Albus looks up at him, and he’s scowling. This happens sometimes, but it’s always jarring to see the face that’s always so full of love contorted into anger. Anger directed at _him_.

“Why?”

“Why not?” None of this makes sense. Scorpius knows that there must be something going on, but there’s a haze of cold and darkness and alcohol blurring all his thoughts together into nothing more than smudges and broken pieces of words.

“I just… I think it’s odd, that’s all. That you’d want to get together with him. He’s a self-absorbed prat.” Albus is digging his fingernails hard into the side of his thigh, Scorpius notices, like he always does when he’s uncomfortable. He reaches out to stop him, takes Albus’ hands in his own. Albus pulls away sharply. “You can’t go around snogging random people at parties. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re one to talk.” Scorpius wonders momentarily where the sudden venom in his voice came from. He doesn’t recognise himself in the words. He’s better than this. There’s an emptiness in his chest that feels like the vacuum of space, stars winking in the darkness. “I saw you all cuddled up with Maisie. Don’t think you’re the only one who’s allowed to have people interested in them. Being a Potter isn’t the only thing that can make someone interesting, you know.”

He’s gone too far this time, and he knows it, the moment the words are out of his mouth. Albus’ eyes snap up to look at him properly, and even in the dim light that spills out of the castle windows, Scorpius can see the fury behind them. He opens his mouth to try and take the words back, to apologise, anything to stop the awful way he’s used Albus’ biggest insecurity against him, but there’s nothing he can say.

“You’re a right dick, you know that, don’t you? I didn’t do anything with Maisie. She had questions about Herbology, and then she started asking me about my _dad_.” Suddenly everything is worse than before, though Scorpius didn’t think that was possible. “And then I see you letting that idiot Simon slobber all over you? What the hell am I supposed to do with that information?”

“You’re jealous, Albus,” Scorpius says mildly, “and you’re drunk. I’m sorry that Maisie wasn’t interested, but don’t take it out on me.” _Wasn’t interested_ is an understatement, he thinks, but it’s probably best not to mention Harry again when Albus is so angry already.

“I’m not drunk.” Albus may as well be smoking at the ears. He’s furious, and gorgeous, and Scorpius can hardly stand it. He can’t think of anything but how perfect, how perfectly _kissable_ Albus’ wind-bitten lips are. “And I’m not jealous, either. You’re free to kiss whoever you—”

Scorpius pulls Albus’ face close and kisses him quickly, before he can even think to stop himself. It doesn’t last long – just a peck, really, but as soon as he realises what he’s done he pulls away from Albus like he’s been electrocuted.

“…want,” Albus finishes, but it’s distant and blank and nothing like the fire that was burning in him just a moment ago. It’s like shards of ice, and the next words come out raw and broken. “Scorpius, what the fuck?”

_A choice_, his mind supplies. He could confess his feelings for Albus, or brush it off as a drunken mistake. _You have either two or none_. That damned door knocker is taunting him. But still, he knows that there’s no real choice, not anymore.

“I’m sorry, Albus,” he says, and every word feels like another step towards his grave. There’s no backing down now, but he still wishes he could take back all those cruel words. And that kiss. He’s not ready to give their friendship up, to give _Albus_ up, not yet. “I wish I could say that was… an accident. A mistake, or something. But the truth is— The truth is that I—”

He has to stop when he notices the way Albus is watching him intensely, with dark, hungry eyes, leaning forward into the words that hang in the space between them. There’s something like hope caught in his airways, filling his lungs with dark smoke.

“I want to kiss you again,” Scorpius says, and he was aiming for bold but it comes out as little more than a whisper. “I want to kiss you all the time, Albus. I have for a while.” His eyes are squeezed shut, bracing for a rejection. He can’t suppress the desperate hope rising in him, but he tries all the same. There’s no way Albus could feel the same way. Albus likes soft, pretty girls, with dark hair and dark eyes. Albus likes Maisie Abbott. Albus likes everything that Scorpius _isn’t_. But there are icy hands curling around the back of his neck and brushing against his hair and he’s being _kissed_, kissed breathless by Albus Potter, and everything else melts away.


End file.
